


ways to give in

by thecaryatid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Begging, Established Relationship, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecaryatid/pseuds/thecaryatid
Summary: Prompt: Honestly, I just want to see Felix get his shit wrecked. Sylvain being “insatiable” (ha ha) and getting off on how many times he can get Felix off, while Felix becomes more and more incoherent the more he comes.Felix gets wrecked; a kinkmeme fill.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 329





	ways to give in

Sylvain tosses Felix over his shoulder as soon as he finishes the last of his paperwork, one hand trailing up from his knee to his ass, leaving delightful warmth in its wake. 

There are merits to struggle; there are merits to surrender. For once Felix chooses the latter immediately, falling loose and relaxed against Sylvain’s groping hands, dropping his head against Sylvain’s back. The end of his ponytail falls, tickling against the tip of his nose despite his efforts to shove it back; but that’s a nonissue once Sylvain carries him to the bedroom and tosses him unceremoniously onto the bed.

It seems like it will be a very long night, and longer still when Sylvain cups his cheek, tracing the lightest patterns in soothing tenderness that belies his smirk and obvious erection and the weight with which he presses Felix back into the mattress.

“You’re going to be good, right?” 

For once Felix ignores the instinct to struggle; for once he walks straight into the surrender of Sylvain’s arms. “I suppose I’ll listen to you,” he says. 

Surprise flits gratifyingly across Sylvain’s eyes, swept away in an instant by a lifetime’s unfettered fondness as he leans down, brushes soft lips over Felix’s forehead, the tip of his nose, the angles of his cheek. “That’s right. You’ll be a good kitten for me.” 

“So?” Felix finally asks, still clothed and being covered in Sylvain’s slow, adoring kisses. “What do you want from me?” 

Sylvain takes his time, dragging his hands over Felix’s shoulders and finally down to the front of his pants, ignoring his squirms of impatience. “I think I’m going to wreck you. Make you beg, fuck you until you’re sobbing, that sort of thing. But we can start by getting you out of these clothes.” 

He sits back, letting Felix up. “So? You said you’d be good. Gonna strip for me?”

Expectant eyes rest on Felix, trace burning paths down the lines of his unexposed skin, creeping delicate, apprehensive longing into the pit of his stomach. Sylvain’s grin doesn’t fade; he raises an eyebrow as Felix stays put. “Do I need to make you?” He doesn’t look upset by the prospect. 

Reluctantly - well, faux-reluctantly, slowly and showy as he can, Felix drags himself over to the edge of the bed. He undoes the buttons of his shirt, glares straight ahead as he pulls it off and tosses it to some remote corner of the room. He strips off his boots, his socks, listening to Sylvain’s encouraging, interested noises.

Sylvain’s patience must run out as soon as Felix slowly pulls his smalls down, hooking them over his ankles. Strong fingers, broad hands, soft arms wrap around his middle and drag his bare, chilly back flush against Sylvain’s overbearingly warm chest. 

At least he isn’t cold anymore, although the fabric of Sylvain’s clothes scratches against him. “Why are you still wearing that?” Felix snaps, wriggling around against the insistent pressure of Sylvain’s hands, trying to remove the offending shirt. 

There’s really nothing he loves more than Sylvain’s laughter, the fond, rolling chuckle he makes out of sheer delight; the charmless guffaws he finally stopped hiding after years and years of safety; his smug little snickers when he gets the upper hand in sparring or sex. However, there is such a thing as being laughed at _too much_ while Felix hasn’t even been fucked yet, while Sylvain hasn’t even had the grace to strip himself, while Felix is pressed caged and slowly wanting against his husband’s chest. Right now Sylvain’s laughter is a breeze on an already-brisk day, bracing and refreshing and deeply irritating. 

“You can wait, right?” Sylvain maneuvers Felix with gentle touches, pressing feather-light on his upper back and tapping his legs out of the way. 

Felix goes; follows each barely-there demand with one moment of quiet thought and then a breath of surrender until he finds himself draped over Sylvain’s lap. His annoyingly still-clothed lap, the fine fabric of his pants dragging against Felix’s inconvenient erection with every tiny shift. Above him Sylvain makes a pleased hum; one of his hands settles on the small of Felix’s back, soothing circles over his spine. The other trails over his thighs and up to his ass, squeezing contemplative handfuls, and absolutely avoiding anything more satisfying. 

Patience is supposedly a virtue. It’s even a virtue that Felix learned in some small amount over slow years spent in negotiation and give-and-take. But patience runs out quickly when he’s being maneuvered over Sylvain’s lap, prodded and groped in languid satisfaction, hard and panting just from that. 

“You sound like you’re already about to start begging. Eager, huh, kitten?” And there’s a click of a bottle; Sylvain gives one firm, slow stroke to his cock and then drags an equally firm, slow finger over his hole, laughing again as Felix grinds down and bucks up, gasping louder. 

“Hurry it _up_.” 

Sylvain never likes to be rushed, particularly not on the rare evenings he gets Felix completely yielding and limp against him, following directions with only token arguments and gripping the sheets in frustration instead of wrestling Sylvain down and taking whatever he wants to the tune of Sylvain’s hoarse, delighted cries. Goading him does not work; if anything it makes him slower, makes him drizzle oil directly above Felix’s hole and slowly massage it into his rim, one finger circling and circling. 

It isn’t enough. Felix presses upwards, chasing the feather-light movement of teasing fingers that pause and retreat as soon as he starts to feel blessed pressure, dipping downward and pulling away in perfect rhythm to make him need. The fine fabric of the sheets isn’t satisfying in his grip, but it’s all Felix has, fingers pressing into ragged fistfulls of fabric and bruising into the base of his palms. Strong fabric, not easy to rip, but he’s getting the feeling it isn’t going to survive with how pent-up he’s already feeling. 

“Sylvain,” Felix hisses out. 

“Felix,” his smug teasing husband says back, accompanied by a smug, teasing stroke at Felix’s cock, grinding his palm up against the entire length, cupping his balls, tickling at his perineum before coming back down to catch his fingers over and over at Felix’s rim.

Patience frays, trembles, wears itself thin. Waiting is overrated; Felix is going back to his earlier plan, fighting up and riding Sylvain until he’s satisfied. But just as his shoulders tense Sylvain grabs both of his wrists, gripping them carefully in one hand and pressing them against Felix’s back. A reminder more than a serious hold. 

“You were going to be good, remember?” 

He was. He is. He is, apparently, going to lie here trembling as his wrists are pinned and his ass is worked open in absurd slowness, as long as Sylvain’s inclined. “Fine,” he says, fight trading places with trembling hunger, “fine.” 

“ _Good_ kitten.”

Sylvain likes the surrender enough to release Felix’s wrists and reach down to grab his dick, stroking in earnest as Felix pants delighted gasps into the sheets, pulling away once Felix is much too close for comfort. He doesn’t really want to examine the wounded whine he muffles as he’s left untouched and wanting. 

Finally Sylvain circles his fingers around Felix’s rim again, oiled and slick, starts to press in properly -- breaching him open slow and sure, tight muscle stretched just barely enough to let two fingers bury to the knuckle as Felix bites off each whimper before it begins.

“There, right there,” Sylvain says, rubbing up against the very edges of his prostate, “you love this, right? You’d let me finger you all night long if it didn’t get you so desperate for my cock.” 

Unfortunately, true. 

“Go on,” Sylvain’s settling into this new rhythm, slow and addicting and unsatisfying, fingers sending sparking need up inside Felix with every thrust but never pressing down just right. “Tell me how much you want my cock.” 

Felix whines, first at the order, then at the sudden stilling of Sylvain’s hand. “Or what?” 

“I mean, I don’t _have_ to fuck you. I could make you suck my cock and then let you take care of yourself.”

Always tradeoffs. On the one hand, swallowing his pride, admitting need in words and getting fucked far into the realm of blind overstimulation. On the other hand, well, swallowing Sylvain’s cock. 

Words are difficult; getting them out is a process. Sylvain is patient as he pauses and starts his way through a sentence. 

“I want,” a deep inhale, a break to scrutinize the threads of their sheets -- finely woven, smooth and strong, too soft even to catch on the rough calluses engrained deep into his skin, “your cock.” 

Sylvain laughs. “Good enough.” He gives one firm, playful swat to Felix’s ass. “Get on your hands and knees for me.” 

Felix -- does. He does. He doesn’t complain; he doesn’t even pretend to complain, hauls himself out of Sylvain’s lap and onto his own knees, propped up on his elbows, facing the headboard. Every time Sylvain shifts he twitches, spreading his thighs as wide as he comfortably can, waiting. 

The cock finally pressing against his entrance is a blessing that Felix tries his hardest to buck up onto, begging for Sylvain in all but words, treated to a hand grabbing roughly at his undone hair in response. 

“You can be a little patient,” Sylvain says, as though Felix hasn’t been patient enough. He takes his fucking time _again_ , pressing into Felix so slowly that by the time the tip of his cock brushes over Felix’s prostate it feels like he’s always been there, that Felix has always been molded around him, yielding and trembling. 

Sylvain pauses once he’s fully sheathed, once Felix is sounding tiny half-sobs with every exhale, so close to spilling but not quite there. He leans forward, chest pressed all along the supple length of Felix’s back, and smooths a careless possessive hand over his belly and down to his cock. 

“You’re going to cum right when I start fucking you, I can tell,” he says while Felix fights between staying perfectly still and thrusting into Sylvain’s hand. “You want me to keep going, right? Fuck you through it? Make you cry?” He punctuates with a slide of his thumb over Felix’s frenulum, cruel in its insistent pleasure. 

“I do,” Felix says, somehow, through being filled and groped and surrounded by Sylvain. 

“That’s right. You’re so good for me, kitten.” 

It’s so _unfair_ that such simple words can make Felix press upward with wordless desperation, aching to grind the cock already seated inside him even deeper. 

“Syl-Sylvain,” gasped and frustratedly broken, a whine and a whisper and a prayer. 

Sylvain laughs so much, so often, especially when they’re fucking. On the one hand Felix wouldn’t have it any other way. He prefers a Sylvain who’s safe and secure in being loved, who’s comfortable making gentle fun of Felix’s misfortune, who shares all of his moods of mirth. On the other hand Felix is whining urgent, wordless noises in the back of his throat, burying his face in the sheets, offering himself up and Sylvain is _laughing_. 

“Let me give you what you want,” Sylvain says, voice still cracking with amusement, pulling out almost all the way and sliding back in, grinding the length of his cock perfectly against Felix’s prostate as he moves, shuddering, overwhelming pleasure overtaking him. 

Felix cums embarrassingly fast, clenching around Sylvain’s dick and spilling all over the bed on -- what, the fourth thrust? the fifth? -- gasping out tiny whimpers of delight that turn into whines when Sylvain doesn’t stop, fucks him through it and far, far into oversensitivity. Constant pressure against his prostate turns from quivering, bone-melting delight into overwhelming stimulation. He presses his face deeper into the bed, biting unsatisfyingly down on thin, fine sheets that do nothing to muffle the cries he stifles in the back of his throat. 

And then Sylvain’s cumming, thrusts going from firm and measured to undisciplined and harsh for long seconds, warmth filling him and trickling down the inside of one thigh. When he pulls out it leaves Felix empty and spasming, slumping down, but Sylvain catches him with one arm looped under his waist before he can fully collapse. 

“Hey, hey, stay right there. I can’t have you ruining all my hard work,” Sylvain says with one squeeze to Felix’s cum-splattered thigh. 

And, well, fuck. He did promise Sylvain he’d be _good_. Felix moans low, surely loud enough to be heard around his damp mouthful of sheets, and stays where he is -- half-collapsed, hips hitched up, open and limp and surrendering. 

“So good for me,” Sylvain says again before getting up, the mattress noticeably shifting as his weight leaves. 

It’s moments before he’s back. Clearly it didn’t take long for him to find whatever he was looking for. And it’s moments before Felix finds out what exactly that is, an oiled-up plug slipping into his hole. It’s not big enough to stretch him out; it’s much smaller than Sylvain is, a replacement unfulfilling compared to Sylvain’s cock and unrelenting compared to emptiness. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re doing so good, kitten,” Sylvain’s hand slides from Felix’s ass up the expanse of his back to the napes of his neck, heavy in its reassurance. “You can relax for a bit.” 

Like the words have severed all his strings Felix slumps over onto one side, gasping, quivering around the plug that won’t let him rest and arching up toward Sylvain’s gentle hands, his voice, his smile. The fucker _is_ smiling, beaming down at Felix as he cups his cheek and strokes his thumbs right under Felix’s eyes. 

“I did say I was going to make you cry, and it doesn’t look like you’re crying yet. Up for another round or two?”

Another round. Another round of being teased to hardness and coaxed to the very edge of orgasm and then fucked through it, split open on Sylvain’s cock and held as he trembles in helpless, overwrought quivers. Another round or two. Felix’s breath hitches at just the thought, lungs filling with helpless desire and quivering apprehension. 

“Another round,” he assents, pulling Sylvain down for one quick kiss, reassurance and want. 

“That’s right, you can take it,” Sylvain purrs right into his ear, hands spreading and smoothing up Felix’s sides in absurd gentleness. “So pretty, so willing, so good for me.” 

Between the orgasm and the plug and Sylvain’s careful praise Felix’s eyes are already going glassy, limbs going slack in surrender. He manages a whine of vague agreement. It turns into a gasp, half a sob when Sylvain stops his gentling caresses and goes for his cock again, teasing at the already over-sensitive head, smirking and holding his eyes on Felix’s as he leans down and laps at the tip. 

“Sylvain. _Sylvain!_ ” and everything else that might have been said is lost to wordlessness as Sylvain quells his struggling with hands pinning down his hips -- almost effortless, who gave him the right to have such strength, to turn it all on Felix now -- swallowing down his still-soft cock as Felix throws his head back against the blessedly solid mattress and wails his voice raw. 

He pulls off once Felix is finally hard again, once half-pained struggling has finally turned back into arching hips urging him onward. Sylvain licks the obscene strings of spit and precum from his lips while Felix collapses back into defeated limpness, hips pressing and circling down into the mattress to chase every bit of available stimulation from the plug still pressing inside him. 

“You look so desperate, but I dunno if I’m ready to fuck you again yet. What,” Sylvain brushes tangled, sweat-soaked hair from Felix’s face, presses his still spit-smeared lips to the center of his forehead, “do you think I should do? There are so many options, kitten. Keep you like this, all hard and squirmy, right on the edge… let you come and then do it all over again… make you just fuck yourself on that plug until you’re really sobbing… what’s your opinion?” 

The question doesn’t register through Felix’s haze of fucked-out desperation. Sylvain laughs, warm and soft where he’s pressed up against Felix’s side, and then pinches one of Felix’s nipples. “Hey, did you hear me?”

“I did,” Felix manages. Options. Options, the illusion of control, all leading to the same conclusion of getting fucked mindless and sobbing. But his cock is hard and aching now, and Sylvain will have his fun on any of these paths, and, goddess, the threat of being teased mercilessly through his oversensitivity seems like nothing next to having to stay like this, shuddering desperately over the plug that barely brushes against his prostate, Sylvain playfully palming at his cock whenever he gets too relaxed. 

“Let me come.” 

“Bold choice! You sure about that, Fe? I’m still going to get you hard again and stuff you full of my cock.” Sylvain sits up over him, straddling his thighs, just brushing his knuckles consideringly over the silky skin of Felix’s cock. 

Waiting is going to kill him. “Let me come.”

Sylvain smirks and pulls his hand away entirely; Felix nearly howls in frustration. “You can do better than that.” 

“Let me come. Please, Sylvain, please let me come,” his words choke into a sob as Sylvain gives his cock one firm pump and pulls away again. 

“And then what? Come on, tell me the rest.” 

Tears press against Felix’s eyelids in earnest, hot and desperate. “I can’t,” he tries weakly, anything beyond disjointed half-sentences far from his ability. 

“Come on, you can. You’re so good for me, you’re so brave and perfect, my beautiful Felix, my perfect kitten. You can say it, right? You can use your words for me?”

Vulnerability and need and loss of control had, Felix thought, already crumbled him as much as they could. Somehow Sylvain’s words wear him down even further, between the care and want and gentle praise. 

“Let me come and, and, ah -” his back arches off the bed as Sylvain strokes his cock slowly, tortuously, “make me come, fuck me senseless, fill me with your cock, just let me _come_ , please, _please_ -”

Sylvain strokes him in earnest this time, firm and confident, not stopping while Felix bucks up into his merciful hand, not stopping when he spills all over it in thick ropes of white cum, not stopping as he pins Felix’s hips down once again to stroke at his now-softened cock. 

The sounds leaving Felix’s throat turn from delighted moans to desperate, strained whines of too much, too much, _too much_ , oversensitive skin sending wholly unfamiliar signals of pleasure turned pain turned back into pleasure until Felix isn’t even struggling anymore, just lying back in a haze of _too much_ centered on the hand still stroking his cock, every breath turning into a mewl or a sob. 

“That’s right. Just relax, lie back, keep breathing.” Sylvain releases Felix’s hips. He lies down, cuddles them together, nose bumping against Felix’s cheek and then reaching down again to stroke his cock. 

Felix clings, hands gripping into Sylvain’s hair and at his shoulder, blinking away tear after tear, holding his thighs loose and open for Sylvain’s convenience. 

“Two orgasms and a little overstimulation’s enough to get you crying,” Sylvain says, kissing over the tear tracks. 

It’s not a question, but it’s directed at him, so Felix whines again, tilts his cheek closer to Sylvain, shifts his hips against the gentle pressure that’s already straddling the line between _too much_ and _not enough_.

“Do you like this? Do you like how it feels when I keep taking you? When I fuck you senseless and sobbing?” Sylvain nips at his ear and waits, as though Felix’s opinion isn’t apparent in the way he’s still here, trusting and surrendered, playing to the whims of Sylvain’s touch. 

“I like it.” Felix’s voice cracks on each word, and he hesitantly shifts his hips up into Sylvain’s hand. “You - _ah_ \- you take me apart. I like it.” 

“That’s right, you love it when I fuck you stupid, you love it when I pin you down and make you take me, you love being good for me.” 

And Felix sobs, he does, he _does_. 

“You’re already hard again. Look at that, so eager, so easy for me.” Sylvain jerks him off in earnest, playing his thumb over Felix’s frenulum and wrapping his hand, slick with lube and cum, from the base of the shaft to the top, cooing into Felix’s ear, encouraging the uncoordinated thrust of his hips. He pulls off too soon, too soon, as Felix teeters on the edge of orgasm, keening up into the crook of Sylvain’s neck. 

Felix whimpers as Sylvain sits up, whimpers again as he dances his hands down to Felix’s hips, just resting them on either side of his cock, doing absolutely nothing. 

“You need to tell me what you want again, remember?” Sylvain prompts. 

Fucking bastard and his fucking hardon for words, for making Felix _say_ things, for savoring every broken syllable pulled from his lips. “Fuck me. _Fuck_ me, goddess, Sylvain, please, _please_ ,” and stops, shaking and crying out when Sylvain pulls out the plug Felix had almost forgotten was there, leaving him clenching onto nothing. 

“Gross,” Sylvain says, holding it up and admiring the mess of lube and cum clinging to it. He drags his tongue over the very tip before setting it aside. “Well? Hold yourself open for me.” 

Felix lets one leg spread wide; he grabs his other behind the knee, pulls it up snug against his chest, flushing even deeper as Sylvain takes in the view and squeezes a possessive hand around Felix’s thigh.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, stroking his own cock that long since hardened, “I’ll fuck you. Fill you up, make you cry my name, fuck you until you’re molded around the shape of my cock.” 

The twitch of Felix’s dick can’t be disguised as Sylvain talks, outlining the bruises he’ll have on his thighs, the ache he’ll have in his cock, the soreness that will stay in his muscles for days. He gasps, waiting and wanting, as Sylvain finally lines up with Felix’s hole. But Sylvain just teases the broad tip of his cock over Felix’s rim -- once, and again, and again, until Felix whines broken and pulls his other leg up to his chest, spreading his thighs as far as he can, presenting himself to his husband. 

“Nice. Stay like that,” Sylvain says, teasing for one more long moment before thrusting in, sheathing himself in one smooth motion, filling Felix up so much _more_ than the plug did. He throws his head back, choking down his wail, fingers digging into his own thighs hard enough to hurt. 

“More,” Felix begs as Sylvain doesn’t move, as he takes his sweet time to get accustomed to the heat of Felix’s thighs and run his hands down the expanse of chest perfectly framed by Felix’s spread thighs, pinching a nipple, stroking his stomach, delaying. “Please, more.” 

“Anything you ask for,” Sylvain says, grinning in triumph. He pulls back and slides back in, smooth and then harder, thrusting in time to Felix’s sharp cries. 

And Felix tries -- clenches what feels like every muscle he has, denies the warmth burning at the base of his cock, staves off orgasm with every gasp, but he _can’t_. He comes, vision whiting out, losing seconds, a minute, as if there’s any way to tell, comes back to himself with cum dripping off the inside of a thigh and his legs still held open by his own bruising grip, Sylvain groaning above him while Felix sobs helplessly from the force of each thrust. 

He’s fucked until he’s sore and trembling, fucked until his fingers pressing into his legs feel numb, fucking until the cries he makes with every breath turn into garbled, barely-there whimpers of _please, please, please_. Felix couldn’t say what he was begging for -- for it to end, or for him to spend the rest of the night, the rest of eternity, spread open while Sylvain takes. 

Sylvain must come eventually. Felix misses it, grabbing at his own thighs and staring sightlessly at the ceiling, only notices something’s changed when warm hands gently guide his own back to his sides, press his legs down to the bed, gather him up in a careful hug. He’s empty, shaking, half-sobbing into Sylvain’s chest. 

“You’re okay, you did so well, it’s over, you can rest,” Sylvain whispers in endless repetition, quiet and calm, a lifeline Felix clings to, hauling himself out from the endless expanse of sensation that drowned his thoughts. 

“Okay,” Felix says finally. His voice sounds raw and hoarse. “I’m okay,” he says experimentally. It feels right. “I’m - I’m great.” 

Sylvain’s hum of acknowledgement vibrates through Felix’s chest as he carefully sits up, pulling Felix onto his lap, chest to chest. He hums tunelessly under his breath as he cleans up the worst of their mess, gentle and careful, wiping up the cum staining Felix’s ass and thighs with quick swipes of a damp cloth. 

Slowly, Felix’s trembling subsides; slowly he relaxes into the warmth at the border of sleep as Sylvain holds him, untangles his hair, wraps them both up in a soft, enormous blanket. 

“You’re going to pay for this one,” he mumbles into Sylvain’s neck. 

“What are you going to do this time? Make me warm your cock all afternoon? Spank me? Tie me up and leave me waiting?” 

Too many decisions, but plenty of time in which to work out the details. “Mmm. Maybe all of them.” 

The sound of Sylvain’s laughter as they’re pressed together is always delicious. “I look forward to it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thecaryatid)


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